Sharman Burson Ramsey's Blog

SISTER'S MINT JULEP RECIPE

 

Mint Julep Mysteries

3 tsp. sugar
5 sprigs mint tips
2 ½ Oz. 100 proof Straight Bourbon
With Mortar and Pestle Macerate 2-3 minutes
Fill silver Julep cup with fresh shaved or crushed ice
Pour Bourbon over sugar/mint combination
Pour into chilled Julep cup with crushed ice

Bulk Mint Julep Recipe                      
100-125 mint springs (no stems!)
                       2 lbs. granulated sugar
                       2 750 ml straight bourbon (Jack Daniels) 
                       Macerate mint and sugar 35 minutes
                       Add 2 750 ml Bourbon.
                       Stir thoroughly and let mix sit for 2 hrs
                       Store back in the 250 ml bottles in the freezer till ready to use

To Serve:
                      Fill Julep cup with cracked ice.  
                      Add 3 oz. of Bourbon/mint 
                      Garnish with leaves coated with powdered sugar and place a straw in the cup.
                       Serve prn. (As per needed)

 

Kimberly Ells, the author of The Invincible Family: Why the Global Campaign to Crush Motherhood and Fatherhood Can’t Win.

This excellent article is from the 
 If? Pedophiles Ruled the World?
With the sobering and inspiring film Sound of Freedom hitting theaters, we are faced with the reality that there is a huge appetite for child sex throughout the world. While Operation Underground Railroad is fighting the child sex movement, there is an international effort pushing it forward in the name of “children’s rights.”
Here is a crucial piece of background. In 1983, two members of the Pedophile Information Exchange, a pro-pedophile group, were interviewed for Newsnight. In the interview, pedophile Steven Adrian said: “Our political objectives include developing a society where children are given a much higher status than today, where they’re recognized as individuals in their own right and this includes recognizing their right to certain sexual freedoms.”“It’s an obligation on society to see that children are given a far more comprehensive sexual education from a far earlier age.”“Pedophiles develop a mutual sexuality with the child. It’s an entirely reciprocal relationship…A child is able to recognize a pleasurable experience. He’s able to recognize a pleasing emotional experience. He’s able to express consent and to recognize that this is something he wishes to continue. And the responsible, caring pedophile always refers to the wishes of the child.”When PIE disbanded, Adrian declared that “the ideas behind it will continue to survive.” Was he right? Through my work at the United Nations over the past decade, I have seen that the fulfillment of these three pedophile objectives on the global level is unmistakable.An International Children’s Rights MovementThroughout the 1980s, PIE rallied pedophile groups worldwide to advance the pedophile cause by initiating a global “children’s liberation” movement and establishing “a common philosophical platform” for children’s rights. In 1989, a new document called the Convention on the Rights of the Child was unveiled at the United Nations. The CRC is “an international legal framework” intended to elevate children’s rights, just as Adrian proposed.
The CRC contains positive elements — such as condemning the sale and trafficking of children — but it could put children at grave risk. For instance, Article 13 says children must have the “freedom to seek, receive and impart information and ideas of all kinds, regardless of frontiers, either orally, in writing or in print, in the form of art, or through any other media of the child’s choice.” The CRC also grants children “freedom of association,” “peaceable assembly,” “privacy,” and access to “information and material from a diversity of national and international sources.” Some groups claim the CRC guarantees children the “right to confidential medical counselling and advice without parental consent…irrespective of age,” especially regarding “reproductive health education or services.”
These purported rights erode parents’ ability to protect their children and pave the way for nefarious adults to gain access to children.
Pedophiles promote the CRC. Peter Newell is the principal author of the U.N.’s Implementation Handbook for the Convention on the Rights of the Child, which instructs policymakers on how to implement the CRC worldwide. In 2018, Newell was convicted of indecent assault and sodomy against a minor and sentenced to over six years in jail. Newell reportedly raped a boy over the course of three years beginning when the boy was 13.
Adrian lamented the fact that people like Newell “whose only ‘crime’ is that they love children can expect to have the book thrown at them and endure years of attacks in squalid prisons from real criminals.” In the pedophile’s view, people who have sex with children are not “real criminals,” and children must be freed from the sexual shackles society places upon them so that pedophiles can have sex with them without legal repercussions.Comprehensive Sex EducationAdrian said children should get a “far more comprehensive sexual education from a far earlier age.” In lockstep with this pedophile ideal, establishing “comprehensive sexuality education” as a human right for all children has become one of the fiercest movements at the United Nations led by UNESCO. At a recent U.N. education summit, presenters called for “universal implementation of CSE” starting at age two. CSE programs do exactly what pedophiles say they should do: present sex to children as their “right” and teach children how to “consent” to sex. The pedophiles of the world must be throwing confetti.
International Planned Parenthood Federation is the leading provider of CSE in the world. Their 2011 sexual rights declaration for youth says:“Young people are sexual beings. They have sexual needs…It is important for all young people around the world to be able to explore, experience and express their sexualities in healthy, positive, pleasurable and safe ways. This can only happen when young people’s sexual rights are guaranteed.”“Sexuality and sexual pleasure are important parts of being human for everyone — no matter what age.”“Governments and leaders have a duty to respect, protect and fulfill all sexual rights for everyone.”The Age of Sexual ConsentA major obstacle in “liberating” children is the legal age of consent. PIE advocated for “the abolition of all age of consent laws” around the world. In 2015, the U.N.’s World Health Organization said human rights standards “require states to guarantee adolescents’ rights…by providing sexual and reproductive health services without parental consent.” In 2016, UNICEF (the U.N. agency tasked with protecting children worldwide) published Legal Minimum Ages and the Realization of Adolescents’ Rights which says states should allow “children to consent to certain medical treatments and interventions without the permission of a parent.”
Further, this spring an organization called ICJ launched a document at an event sponsored by U.N. agencies including the WHO that says, “Sexual conduct involving persons below the domestically prescribed minimum age of consent to sex may be consensual in fact, if not in law.”
In addition to eroding age of consent laws, the WHO is working to decriminalize “sex work” (i.e., prostitution). The WHO’s name and logo appear at decriminalizesex.work under “Organizations that Support the Decriminalization of Prostitution.”
If the push to lower the age of consent and the effort to legalize “sex work” are both successful, this could lead to the legalized prostitution of children in the name of children’s “sexual rights.” If this occurs, there may be very few children left for Tim Ballard and his teammates to save because engaging children in sex work would be legal — as long as the child consents. The “responsible, caring” pedophiles and traffickers of the world would be happy to help them consent.
Liberated from What?
We are facing an international movement insisting that children must be “liberated”, but we must ask, liberated from what? The answer: from parents, laws, and social norms that restrict sexual activity for children. Who benefits from the sexual freedom of children? People who want to have sex with children and people who want to earn money off people having sex with children. In other words, traffickers and pedophiles.
To counteract this global pedophilic onslaught, we must oust sexual rights organizations from our schools, maintain age of consent laws, fiercely enforce child pornography laws, apprehend and convict child traffickers, and defend parental rights like fire-breathing dragons on steroids. We must have a common consensus that children are innocent and that their innocence is worth protecting.
For children, hearing the Sound of Freedom does not mean being freed from their parents or from laws that protect them. Hearing the Sound of Freedom means living free from sexual exploitation.Kimberly Ells, the author of The Invincible Family: Why the Global Campaign to Crush Motherhood and Fatherhood Can’t Win. 

The Story of the Creek Indian Family Saga Series

  

The Story of the Creek Indian Family Saga Series

Now republished with different names

ONE STEP AWAY FROM FOREVER. BOOK 1 IN THE CREEK FAMILY SAGA

"One Step Away from Forever" is a lush plunge into a forgotten corner of American history—the brutal Indian wars at the beginning of the eighteenth century," says Janis Owens, author of My Brother Michael. "Star crossed lovers share the page with the larger than life figures of history, creating a vivid, detailed story that reflects the passion and brutality of the day and gives insight to the nation we have become."

Cade Kincaid and Lyssa Rendel meet as children traveling with a pack train into Creek country—both are of mixed blood. Ten years later Lyssa manipulates a wedding based on a childhood promise. The two must then survive the Fort Mims massacre and ensuing Creek War to reunite.

Savannah Jack, the cruelest and most frightening of all the villains of the age, captures Lyssa, Pushmataha’s adopted daughter. Lyssa valiantly draws Savannah Jack from the glade where children she has rescued and nursed back to health are secluded after the murderous Red Stick attack and vicious depredations were committed on the nearly 500 inhabitants of a one-acre stockade built around the once-gracious plantation home of Samuel Mims.

Cade knows Savannah Jack well. He was himself captured by this bloodthirsty Creek years ago when he was associated with William Augustus Bowles who sought to set himself up as the emperor of the Creek nation upon the death of Alexander McGillivray.

The compelling stories of individuals caught up in the seismic forces of conflicting cultures conveys a human drama of war weaving a tale the theme of which is as applicable today as it was 200 years ago when this pivotal event occurred August 30, 1813. The voices of these forgotten people cry out to have their lives remembered.

"One Step Away from Forever" is an astonishing accomplishment, a debut novel of historical importance that is not only a riveting page-turner but also beautifully written. Keep your eye on Sharman Ramsey, an exciting new voice in Southern fiction. —Cassandra King, author of The Same Sweet Girls

FIND ME IF YOU CAN. BOOK 2 IN THE CREEK FAMILY SAGA

Creek half-blood and survivor of the Creek Indian War, Joie Kincaid and the nemesis she rescued from certain death after the Massacre at Fort Mims are kidnapped from a tea room in London. Joie awakens with amnesia—after having been struck on the head—to find herself in the hold of a ship sailing to the pirate Gasparilla’s lair in Charlotte Harbour and bound to a man she finds strangely familiar.

To save himself and Joie, the preeminent scholar Godfrey Lewis Winkel is forced to take heroic action. As a story of passion unfolds between the two, Joie Kincaid must overcome a childhood of abuse and rejection to accept love she had never known. Together they weather the tempests of pirates, illness, the Seminole War, family vendetta, and a hurricane to find their way to each other and a love neither could have imagined.

Interwoven in this action-packed adventure is the long-forgotten tale of hope and betrayal at the Negro Fort, the plight of the Red Sticks after Horseshoe Bend, the greed of a pirate longing for a legacy, Andrew Jackson’s single-minded vision of a nation’s manifest destiny, and the British officers who seek to redeem a promise and forge an empire.

FIND ME IF YOU CAN continues the CREEK FAMILY SAGA  begun in ONE STEP AWAY FROM FOREVER, a story of love, war, and redemption set against the Creek Indian War.

THE CHASE IS ON. BOOK 3 IN THE CREEK FAMILY SAGA

With the introduction of the orphans rescued at Fort Mims in my novel, ONE STEP AWAY FROM FOREVER, I set out to craft a story for each of them. Inspired by the events at Angola, I realized that Andro’s story must also involve Angola. 

Discovering a twin who had been raised in slavery brought the poignancy of a family ripped apart to combine with the raid on Angola by the Coweta Indians. Add to that the horror of any mother to have a child ripped from one’s arms and you have a human tragedy that could not help but touch any heart.

The pirate, Gasparilla, they say is legend. If that is true, why is there a Gasparilla Island, a Captiva Island, a Sanibel Island? So, Gaspar finds a place in this novel and in my imagination. Black Caesar is mentioned as an authentic participant in Haiti and pirate in the Gulf of Mexico. Creatures in the Okefenokee Swamp. So the legends say.

The twins, Andro and Cato, separated at the Massacre at Fort Mims, surmount a separation that includes both class and distance to reunite with their mother. The raid sanctioned by Andrew Jackson on the Red Sticks and Seminoles that remained in Florida and to bring escaped slaves back to their owners. Slave traders and adventurers challenged the boys and Sabrina Stapleton with whom Cato was captured but they had the help of their Seminole friends to make it to Angola before it was destroyed.

 

The Creek Family Saga began with my discovery that my fourth great grandmother was Native American. Vashti Vann married Benjamin Jernigan. Jernigan just happened to be a friend of Andrew Jackson's. 

History of Conecuh: p. 50

"Fort Crawford, now in Escambia county, was one of the points earliest settled in Conecuh . It derived its name from an officer in Jackson's command. Benjamin Jernagan seems to have been the first to pitch his tent in this region. He settled within two and a half miles of where Fort Crawford subsequently stood, and on the west side of Burnt Corn Creek, within three-quarters of a mile of the present site of Brewton. This was in the latter part of 1816, or early 1817. Not more than two or three settlements had been made in the county at that time. Soon after Mr. Jernigan came here, he was jointed by James Thomson, Benjamin Brewton, R.J. Cook, Lofton and Loddy Cotten. At this time the fort was occupied by the Seventh Georgia Regiment . General Jackson was in the habit of visiting the home of Benjamin Jernigan--father of the venerable William Jernigan, now a resident of Pollard . Mr. Jernigan had removed with his family from Burnt Corn Springs for the purpose of herding cattle for Jackson's army. From the direction of Pensacola, Jackson sent the Jernigan family supplies by the Conecuh River, and many were the annoyances to which the boatmen were subjected by the Indians firing upon them from the thickets along the banks. The army quartered at this point received their supplies from Montgomery Hill, on the Alabama river. They were hauled in wagons across the Escambias to Fort Crawford, where for a time all the citizens of this section went to procure bred. The erection of the fort was commenced in 1817. Prior to this time only temporary earthworks had been thrown up. No Indian settlements were then near; but now and then prowling bands would pass through the country, ostensibly on hunting excursions. They usually encamped about the heads of streams,and built temporary shelters of pine and cypress bark. Sometimes they would linger at such points a week together, and then pass onward. In the winter of 1817, tracts of swampland were cleared of the trees and rank cane, which were burned in the following spring, and the soil planted in corn. Though unprotected by fences, these cleared spots yielded immense crops. The following year an effort was made to fence with the tall cane, but failed.

I wondered what life was like with my ancestor being the niece of Chief James Vann of the Cherokee, and the granddaughter of the Squirrel King of the Chickasaw, written of  in Edward Cashin's book, Guardians of the Valley. They moved into Creek country right after the Creek Indian War. What was life like for my ancestors who would have been considered half-breed? I needed to know how Native Americans lived in that area of the country--west Alabama near the Florida Border. In the process I read a book about an authentic family who straddled both worlds--FIVE DOLLARS A SCALP. Having done my research with no telling now many history books I gathered, it was time to turn this knowledge into historical fiction, a genre I had always loved, and make this era come alive for others. This is a Time Forgotten and a story discarded or what Paul Harvey would call "the rest of the story."

I wrote my first novel and friend and publicist, Kathie Bennett of Magic Time, said, "You can write." Who doesn't want to hear that? You write something and someone who knows something about writing gives you a bit of validation. But when I went to sell the books originally published as "Swimming with Serpents" and "In Pursuit," they did not sell. Why? 

Kathie said I wound up being a history teacher rather than "telling a story" as my friend, Cassandra King told me her husband, Pat Conroy, told her was the secret to a successful book. 

Time passed. My husband, an attorney, a "just the facts ma'am" kind of guy who never read my books, passed away. I took another look at my books and decided the bookseller in Pawley's Island was right when he said, "A female potential purchaser will pick up the book, see the snake on the cover, and put it quickly back on the shelf. The cover did not tell the story. 

More time passed and I decided to open an ETSY store just because I saw them on YouTube, my newest sedentary activity (two hip replacements and one knee replacement--another knee coming soon) and thought, you know, that might be fun. So I opened one and discovered CANVA and AI (Artificial Intelligence) and designed my own cover. I had to buy the books that university press had in their warehouse, but I got my rights back on my novels. Having already published the third in the series through CREATESPACE (KDP with Amazon) I had experience. 

Those books are now available on Amazon. 

But, in the process, I became the owner of around 300 (Swimming with Serpents) and 200 (In Pursuit). What to do with them? I graduated from Dothan High School and feel a loyalty to my schools. I also understand that there are students who actually have no books. Perhaps my alma mater might accept a gift to the students at Dothan High School-to maybe inspire? maybe inform?

Fictional characters interact with true historical people in true historical situations. Seldom told and as with The Chase Is On--hidden. Perhaps it is too painful. A Black History Story that needs to come out of the shadows. 

Also, the books may be considered PG (parental guidance, in some instances).  I have republished them as Teen and Young Adult. Having discussed this with a retired teacher of mine whose opinion I respect, Paulette Clardy, she thinks they are entirely appropriate and great history! Also, my own thirteen year old Granddaughter is taken with the story and her friends want to get the book as soon as possible. They will, of course, get the two books as soon as I can get them to them. 

Now, look at the covers. Which one tells a story? Lessons learned. 

Surviving The Flu

 

Surviving the Flu

I have just survived a bout with the flu. No special name other than debilitating. For days I eliminated fluids fast and furious (diarrhea and vomiting) and could not drink or eat. My bed was my refuge. 

I used my heating pad to help with the back pain. I discovered that my dogs large pee pads made the perfect sheet cover so I did not have to constantly change sheets. My oldest daughter who lives with me who also got sick recommended that I order a heated mattress pad cover and so I did, but it did not arrive until I was nearly well. 

However, upon recovery I did discover several things that I could eat and I want to share then with you. 

Through Walmart delivery, I ordered deli potato salad with mustard. Nibbling on the potatoes with that tangy bit of mustard taste, along with sips of ginger ale, helped give me strength to survive that miserable illness.  

When I got stronger and less inclined to faint from dehydration, I was ready to cook something. 

______________________

I have always enjoyed chicken and rice together.  But I have never done this:

1 gallon water 

3 cups of rice

1/2 Walmart delivered roasted chicken 

4 chicken boullion cubes

1/2 stick of butter

salt and pepper

Add rice to boiling water with butter and salt. Boil the rice in the water. Drop in bouillon cubes. Add chopped up chicken and continue to simmer. Add more water if the rice gets too dry. I do not cook anything precisely. You may like rice firmer than I do. But this makes a tasty come back to solid food. This makes a pretty good batch. Remember my daughter was sick as well. She really liked this!

-----------------------------------

Don't forget adding fluids. When I made my Walmart order I ordered LOTS OF FLUIDS! For some reason apple juice and ginger ale hit the spot the best. Ginger has always been an herbal remedy for stomach issues. When I first got sick, I drank a Coke. It did not settle my stomach like it always had before. It led the way with initiating the vomiting. A day or two later, Ginger Ale really worked! I also ordered Gator Ade but I have never been able to keep Gator Ade down. However, my daughter, who soon came down with the flu as well, finds that to be the best remedy. It is what my sister, the cardiologist,  recommends as she goes into the litany of replacement stuff. 

The next recipe is so simple but delicious if you like mashed potatoes and English peas. When you make your delivery order to Walmart for the roasted chicken from the deli, also order some Bob Evans mashed potatoes and a couple of small cans of LeSeur English peas. 

You will need:

one bowl full of Bob Evans mashed potatoes

1 small can of LeSeur English peas

1/4 stick of butter 

salt and pepper

Pour the English peas on top of the mashed potatoes. Cut up the butter around the bowl. Add salt and pepper to taste. Put in Microwave for 1 minute. Then stir. Put it back in microwave for 1 minute more. Stir once more. Then eat. Not all at once. But I find that delicious!

_______________________

Of course, everyone recommends Tylenol for fever and Phenergan suppositories, etc., but when one is nauseous and afflicted with diarrhea, keeping those in long enough to do any good is nearly impossible. 

I am told the flu in its many varieties is everywhere. It is survivable. 

A Tragedy of Modern Medicine

I want to share with you a tragedy of modern medicine. Yesterday Cecily and I attended the funeral of the 43 year old daughter of two of Joe's and my oldest friends, Robert and Judy Grimes. Kristi, a truly beautiful and loving special education teacher, died of ovarian cancer. 
Remember Gilda Radner? She also died of ovarian cancer in 1989. Kristi, one with a high tolerance for pain, went to the doctor with pain in the abdomen. The doctor gave her antibiotics and told her to take tylenol for pain. An ultrasound or CAT scan at that time could have identified the real cause for the pain and perhaps saved her life. By the time they decided to find out the real cause for her pain, the tumor had grown huge. The surgeon burst the tumor while removing it and the cancer spread throughout her body. No chemotherapy worked because the cancer was the aggressive type and whatever chemo was administered slid off the cell. The pain was excruciating. No medications could stem the pain and yet she had a smile for everyone. Robert and Judy are skin and bones from their own very real pain and the constant care they gave their precious daughter. Finally Kristi asked to be taken to the hospital and its hospice care. There she queried all who came in to care for her if they knew the Lord and Savior she served so well all her brief life and soon would see face to face.On our drive to Elba yesterday we drove through torrential rain and I was reminded of the song "Tears in Heaven." Time can bring you downTime can bend your kneesTime can break your heartHave you begging pleaseBegging pleaseBeyond the doorThere's peace, I'm sureAnd I know there'll be no moreTears in heaven Judy told me Kristi awoke once to find her doctor there and said "I did not want to wake up here." So the words of this song I sang yesterday are truly meaningful. My chains are goneI've been set freeMy God, my Savior has ransomed meAnd like a flood His mercy rainsUnending love, Amazing graceThe Earth shall soon dissolve like snowThe sun forbear to shineBut God, Who called me here belowWill be forever mineWill be forever mineYou are forever mineThe point of this post is to remind all my female friends of the necessity of taking charge of your health. My mother at 53 had a hysterectomy where they found a fibroid tumor that had become a sarcoma, a very aggressive cancer. It was "well encapsulated" meaning it did not burst. She lived to be 89. When I was 46, a fibroid tumor caused me to have excessive bleeding caused by a huge fibroid tumor. I had an emergency hysterectomy and told them to take ovaries and uterus. I did not want to take the chance that I would meet Gilda Radner's fate. When Cecily, my oldest daughter, was just a bit younger than Kristi she had a cancer scare and the doctors in PC wanted to do her surgery in two phases after bursting the tumor. Perhaps they wanted a smaller incision. She went to Birmingham and the cancer doctor did her surgery. Praise God she did not have cancer but she did have a total hysterectomy so as not to take the chance. My mother's three sisters had fibroid tumors and hysterectomies. We do not know if we have that gene that makes cancer a greater probability, but just looking at Mother's experience has led me to warn the women of our family to have their children early and do not be vain enough to care about the size of incision or negligent about letting the gynecologist know about the history of our family. And I am telling you, my dear friends to be conscientious about your own health. You matter.

Chapter 8 of Creme de Cassis and Murder. Mint Juleps Trilogy by Sharman Jean Burson

Chapter Eight

We’d just left the Madison Parrish Sheriff’s Department and were heading once again down Causeway when Julio announced, “Miss Dabney, it’s nearly six thirty.” 

God has a devilish sense of humor, I thought. I had just settled back feeling real smug about Sophie and her juices when Julio had to remind me about our supper with the anesthesiologist. Now Sophie was looking at me like the cat that swallowed the canary.  

“I guess we can’t call and cancel,” I said.

“The poor man is probably already standing in the heat outside the Monteleone waiting for us to pick him up. You know about the crime in the French Quarter. And he’s probably starving.”  

Sister was enjoying this way too much. 

“Wipe that smile off your face,” I said to Julio smirking at me in the rear view mirror. Never taking my eyes off of Julio in the mirror, I felt around for my purse and pulled out my makeup kit. My attempt at surreptitiousness failed completely and I finally gave up and applied my lipstick, eyeliner and mascara openly while Sister and Julio grinned like a pair of mules. I told them they were grinning like a pair of mules.

“Hee Haw,” Sister said.  

I take it back if I ever said she was witty.

“Tell me about this man that actually has you blushing,” she said.  

“You’ll see soon enough,” I said. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her about him. Why a man with Mel Gibson eyes, Richard Gere buns and a Johnny Cash voice would be interested in a fluffy nearly sixty year old woman who knew the Latin names of common flowers, especially after he had participated in her colonoscopy was more than I could comprehend. He could be some kind of pervert or something. I reached for my purse and the hormones when I realized I was flashing like crazy.  

We pulled up to the Monteleone just as I choked on the hormone pill I took for hot flashes. I tried to swallow it with no liquid and started coughing. Sister beat me on the back and said, “Could that gorgeous Richard Gere look alike that all those women are stumbling over their feet staring at be your doctor?”

“He’s not my doctor!” I objected.

I looked. It was. I had thought he looked good in jeans. All dressed up in a light charcoal pin stripe with crisp white shirt and matching gray tie standing in the pool of light from the sign and streetlights, the man looked like he came straight out of GQ. All I could do was nod. We pulled up directly in front of the hotel and Dr. Gavin Crenshaw. He looked over the limo, behind the limo and in front of the limo, but never at the stretch 1979 maroon limo blocking the street directly in front of him.  

I finally had to put down the window and beat on the side of the car to attract his attention. Then he put his hands on his hips and just stared. Of course, I blushed and opened the door. 

 “Get in or we’re leaving,” I said huffily as I scooted over to the middle of the seat.

“A bit tetchy, are we?” he said as he arranged his long perfectly formed legs against short well padded ones in the back seat.  

“I’m Sophie,” Sophie said, introducing herself since I was too flustered to do so.  

“Dr. Crenshaw meet Dr. Ransom. Gavin…Sophie,” I said realizing my faux pas.

Sister extended her hand and said, “I am delighted to meet you.” I did not think she needed to grin quite so big. She was supposed to be in mourning, for goodness sake.  

“She’s in mourning,” I said.  

“Let’s have a drink,” she said and opened the bar. 

“Indeed,” said Gavin.  

“Where to?” asked Julio.

“Gavin, that’s Julio, our new found cousin,” I said. 

“A pleasure,” Gavin said, his eyebrow going higher.  

“Great peace necklace,” Gavin said looking at the necklace dangling between my ample breasts with a look more personal than I would have preferred with two pair of eyes taking in every nuance of intonation and look. Somehow I had the feeling this man would pass the melon test in the produce department.    

“God, it is so hot in here,” I said fanning myself and pulling the supposedly summer weight brown cowl-necked sweater away from my sticky body. I was having one of those flashes that made me think about stripping every item of clothing from my body and jumping into the fountain in Jackson Square--all the while knowing, like every other woman in the grips of a similar hot flash, that would actually be a very sane thing to do. Sister dropped an ice cube down my sweater and passed the flute of champagne with Crème de Cassis that she called a “Gone Slumming Kir Royale” to Gavin.  

“Thank you Jesus,” I said as the ice water melted and dripped down my back.

“Nope, just me, Sophie,” replied my smart aleck sister.

Julio adjusted the air to the speed of a small hurricane and I took control of the vent letting the air travel straight up my skirt. I mopped the sweat from my face with the Kleenex Sophie passed me and looked at the cool, collected physicians seated on the back seat I had just vacated. Do they teach them that in medical school?  

My hair blew wildly in the wind of the vent. I lifted my newly dyed (thank you God) light brown, shoulder length hair from the back of my neck and sister passed me another ice cube that I held there. Gavin lifted the flute in a toast.  

“My late wife went through that,” he said with that kind, compassionate rumble that made my heart go pitter-patter. I looked helplessly at Sister. I was way out of my league here. It had been almost forty years since I had been on a date. But, this wasn’t really a date. Just a friend who came into the same town I happened to be in with my sister. I took a deep breath. Just a friend. 

I made the mistake of looking into his Mel Gibson eyes.  

So! Not!

“I’m driving around and around,” Julio said. “I cannot find a parking place and before we try to go anywhere else, we’re going to have to gas this baby up.” 

Sister was still playing with her new toy…the bar. She handed me a flute of the Crème de Cassis. Potent concentrated anti-depressant. “Then find a gas station,” she commanded regally.

We pulled up to the pumps at a gas station on Rampart Street. Julio took the credit card Sister handed him and got out to pump the gas.  
                

Several minutes passed while we made small talk in the limo -- mainly Sister and Gavin talking about the schools they attended and doctors they knew in common. I chugged the liquid courage and felt doubts and inhibitions slip away.  

Then Julio ducked down beside the limo and opened the back door. “There’s Estrellita and Juan!” he exclaimed. “Why would they be running through the French Quarter?”

I looked behind the vehicle to where Julio had spotted his brother and cousin in the light of a streetlight. His eyes were better than mine, but impulsively I grabbed Gavin’s hand and pulled him out of the limo.  

“We’re following,” I said and took off at a high-speed walk down the dark street in the middle of the French Quarter. I do not run. Besides, running would be too obvious, especially since I would be gasping for breath within a block. In addition to the fact that the sidewalk was shadowed with pools of light from the street lamps and it would not do to trip on the uneven stones.  

I looked back at Sister who stood beside the limo looking totally exasperated with me for doing what I knew she wanted to do. 

“Don’t lose sight of those two,” I said to Gavin, wishing I had not hidden my trifocals in my purse back in the limo.

“Could you tell me why we are chasing those two young people in the dark on a street in the Middle of the French Quarter? In the dark?” He repeated with emphasis. He made sense seeing as how I had just had that very same thought flit through my mind. But I was committed now. 

 “They’re Julio’s cousin and adopted brother. We think they may have poisoned Julio’s parents with mercury and may have tried to kill Julio.”

Gavin stopped so suddenly he almost jerked my arm out of socket. “We’re chasing suspected murderersdown Rampart Street in the French Quarter…after dark? Is this safe?” Just to make sure I got the point he had repeated the pertinent facts. French Quarter. Dark. Murderers. He had a point there. 

What came out of my mouth was totally unexpected.

“I gave up safe when I got out of that Tahoe and had a hot dog with you at Home Depot.”

Gavin laughed and took me by the arms, pulling me closer, and said. “So you think I’m dangerous?”

I nodded and looked up at him looking down at me.

“I think you’re right,” he said in a husky voice. He looked down the street. “They’re headed into that bar…Voodoo at Congo Square.”

Oh, shit, I thought. Voodoo. They would run into someplace named voodoo. It was dark, and the fog had followed us from our breaking and entering over in Algiers. Although since technically Julio lived there and he was with us we were not actually breaking and entering. 

I started mumbling about voodoo and a priest’s bed, but the only word Gavin caught was the word bed and he pulled me to a stop once again. “Bed?”  

“My sister has a voodoo priest’s bed at Waverly she tries to get me to sleep in. But I won’t. And now I have to go into a voodoo bar. There really are times I wish I was Catholic and had some rosary beads, because now is the time for a ‘Hail Mary’ if ever there was one.” I pulled away and started down the street.

“Bed?” repeated the male with a one-track mind. “Maybe you’ll show me that bed sometime,” he said with a grin. “I’m an antique collector.”  

Too many ways to take that statement. But from the way his attention kept being drawn to peace necklace bouncing up and down on my chest as I speed walked down the sidewalk, I didn’t think he was referring to me as an antique. Really, I thought. All men are the same. No matter how old they are. You have to work hard at keeping them focused.  

“We’re on a chase here,” I reminded him as we reached the door to the Voodoo.   

Unfortunately, the door was unlocked, so we would have to go in  

I pretended courage I did not have and said, “We’ll pretend to be tourists who have heard of this place and wanted to check it out.” That ploy had plenty of holes since the place was totally immersed in darkness and we could see absolutely nothing.

Gavin nodded. He was just humoring me, I knew. We crept along the wall with the tiny bit of light playing through the windows casting sinister shadows about us. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as we passed shrunken heads and cemetery headstones left from the time when the bar was open. The shadows became more pronounced as we proceeded through. 

It was as dark as a crypt in there! My heart pounded ninety to nothing. Gavin was an anesthesiologist and I had left my cardiologist at the gas pump. Gavin stayed so close I could feel the heat from his body…something I became more and more aware of as we progressed. I just might have a heart attack here, but whether from the chase, the place or my increasing awareness of the man, I wasn’t really sure. I’ll bet he could do pretty good CPR, however. The electricity I felt when he was near was probably better than a defibrillator. Maybe he would have to do mouth to mouth resuscitation.  

Focus girl. I told myself. You’re chasing potential murders through the black dark of the Voodoo in New Orleans on a fog-shrouded night. Darren McGavin as Kolchak: the Night Stalker would have come prepared with a cross and a stake. All you have is a peace symbol and Papa’s antique gun and that would never placate any self-respecting vampire…or Mafia drug lord. Keep your wits about you.  

Wits? What bird wit would do this? Who was I to think I was up to an episode of CSI New Orleans?  

I almost stopped short to see what would happen if Gavin “accidentally” bumped into me like happened in one of Julie Garwood’s romance novels. I would have my face upturned. His would descend slowly and…

… And then … I shrieked when I kicked something that felt like a human leg.  

Gavin pulled me toward him and I cried, “There’s something there! On the floor!” Gavin knelt down to feel what I had felt.  
                 

“It’s a mop,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me along behind him towards the door through which we had seen the Estrellita and Juan exit.  

“Oh,” I said wondering why a mop had made the man suddenly get so energized.   

We made our way to the back of the bar with me shaking all the way. Gavin threw open the back door and we catapulted out into the alley just in time to see Juan and Estrellita get into a waiting BMW and drive off, shrouded by the murky mist. In the time it had taken for us to make our way through the Voodoo, the fog that had settled on Algiers had thickened on its way across the River into the French Quarter. As if this were some French Art film, the red lights gleaming like vampire eyes on the rear of the BMW disappeared in the fog.  

At the same time, from the other end of the alley two lights lurched into the alley glowing fiendishly. I was forced to cling to my gallant anesthesiologist in the dark because there was nowhere to run in that narrow alley. We pressed back against the door through which we had just exited. 

It was then I heard the voice of doom breaking through the fog. It was Sister saying, “Don’t. You. Ever. Run off. Like that. Again.” The lights of the limo’s open door revealed that piercing look that made you feel like the butterfly being stuck with the pin on a display.  

Her eyebrow lifted as she took note of the fact that I clung to my hero like Saran Wrap, a position I was loathe give up.

For once, I was unphased by that look. I was too shaken by our chase, the unnerving place we had just run through, the fog shrouded atmosphere that almost invited one of the undead to appear, and the comfort of that wonderful man whose mere presence activated butterflies in the depth of my stomach. 

 If ever there was a need for fortification …

“Sit down, Sister. And pour me a drink,” I commanded, trying hard to hold onto whatever composure I had left.

We all settled in the back of the limo.  

“Estrellita and Juan went off with someone in a light colored BMW, Julio. Does that ring a bell?” Gavin said. I was still too nervous to put words together. This place gave me the willies. I held onto Gavin’s hand as if he was a lifeboat from the Titanic. Sister had not let that fact escape her, either, I could tell.

Julio shook his head, and then looked up as if a light bulb had turned on in his head.

 “A light colored BMW attempted to run me down the night I left New Orleans to find Dr…Sophie.”

“What about this place they came through? The Voodoo?” asked Gavin. I shivered remembering that place.  

“I’ve never been here before,” Julio said. “But, I think I remember Estrellita listing this once as a place for me to apply for a job.”

Gavin watched me take a big slug of the drink Sister fixed for me. Then he surprised me by reaching out and taking the glass from my hand. He turned the glass up and finished it off. He let the fortifying liquid settle. Then he looked at me as if assessing my emotional barometer before speaking to Sister.

“You said your husband had connections with the police force?” Gavin asked Sister.  

“He was with the Sheriff’s Department for thirty-five years.”

“Well, I think you need to give them a call and report a body in the Voodoo.”

I started hyperventilating. “You lied to me.” 

“I was afraid you’d freak out.”

“Oh. My. God. You found a body in there?”

“Yes. And I touched the body to make sure whoever it was…was dead. So we’d better wait here.”

“Put your head between your legs and breathe deeply,” Gavin commanded, rubbing my back comfortingly as I obeyed.

Sister called her friend Warren who appeared right on the heels of the appropriate authorities for the French Quarter.  

“So, why are you in a foggy alley in the in the middle of the night in the French Quarter behind a closed bar the day after you buried your husband?” he asked Sister.  

“We’re all asking ourselves the same thing,” Sister replied. “Julio thought he saw his cousin and brother down the street and since he was pumping the gas I was paying for, Dabney and Gavin went after them. They followed them through the bar where Dabney tripped over something Gavin told her was a mop until they got out here in the alley.”

“It was a body,” Gavin said.  

Warren indicated to the police who had gathered that they should go into the building.

“The two Julio thought were his cousin and brother got in a BMW and drove away,” Gavin added. 

Soon, the back door to the bar opened. The paramedics brought the body out in a bag on a stretcher. I turned around on my knees and watched out the back window. I refused to leave the safety of that limousine or release Gavin’s hand.

The New Orleans police officer pulled Julio aside. “Anybody you know,” he said as he unzipped the body bag.

Julio turned white. “It’s one of the men who have been coming into the nightclubs to watch me perform. One of the men who Orlando at the Oasis told me had great interest in my career and implied had paid him money.”

The officer nodded. “This guy is well known to have Mafia connections. Anything you know about?”

Julio shook his head emphatically. “No, officer. I just play the guitar. I was helping my Mom and Dad pay the bills playing some gigs. But they’re dead now.”

Sister and Warren walked over. Warren took the policeman by the arm and guided him away. “I’ll fill you in,” he said. Julio looked like he was about to pass out.

“We all need food. I’ll drive,” Sister said. “We’re headed to Antoine’s she said to Warren’s retreating back and then pushed Julio into the passenger’s seat. She was in the driver’s seat before I could object.

“Buckle up,” I said. Whoever coined the phrase “Hell on wheels” had ridden with my sister.

Sister had the nerve of a drag racer. She dared the rest of the traffic to run into that big maroon Mother. After one close call she said, “We’re bigger than them. They’d better give way,” she said eyeballing the on-comer that didn’t seem to have received her telepathic intimidation.

I closed my eyes until we screeched to a halt in front of Antoine’s on Rue St. Luis where she double parked the car and stalked inside. I got out on wobbly legs and nearly kissed the sidewalk.  

Sister called the maître d’ “Reggie” and gave him a tip to find someone to park the car somewhere and then be ready to bring it back when we were through. Usually I would argue with her about throwing her money around, but tonight my nerves were too shot to care. If we hadn’t been shaken up about the body in the bar, Sister’s driving would have been disturbing enough.  

“We want the Tobasco Room,” Sister told Reggie, obviously someone she knew well. The man gathered the menus smiling and bowing us along and led the way to the red painted room with a mirrored wall without a question.  

“I did a stent for his Dad,” she explained. “Saved his life.”  

Warren came in the front door about then. “You might as well join us,” Sister said, in a matter of fact business voice. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, but Warren smiled confidently. I hoped he was a patient man. I really thought he had a chance if he was patient and played his cards right. 

Fortunately, the waiter took our drink order immediately and brought me my Jack Daniels and ginger ale pretty quickly. I downed that one appreciating the calming influence of the alcohol as it coursed through my veins and ordered another. Gavin turned out to be a Scotch and water man just like his suit indicated. Sister ordered some exotic wine and Warren said he’d better stay sober to get the rest of us home. Julio didn’t look like his nerves were any better than mine. He was ordered a Corona.

Finally, the chill started to leave my body. Gavin had been watching me so closely I guessed he thought I was about to go into shock.  

It does not take liquor long to loosen me up. I looked at Gavin and said the thing I’d been wondering all night. And no, it had nothing to do with the body or the mystery.

“Why me?” I asked. My tongue had gotten a little bit thick as I relaxed and truly felt no pain.  

“You can have any nubile young nurse at the hospital…and I know they’re chasing you so don’t pretend they aren’t…and yet you are pursuing me. Why?”

He took my hand and hung his head as if he were embarrassed. Then, looking at me with his bone-melting Mel Gibson blue eyes, he admitted, “They scare me.” 

That gorgeous hunk of seriously hot male actually blushed.

I sat still and said nothing. It was the trick I’d learned from Sophie. It worked. He struggled for the words. 

“I cannot help the way I look. I seem to attract women who have the attitude that they are so superior they should be wined and dined and then entertained with sex you’d have to train for a Triathlon to be able to perform.”

 “I want what I had with my wife. She just loved me. Sex was loving not performing. She loved to cook and she loved to eat and she took care of me. Our home was a haven and our children adored her. So did I.” His glorious eyes misted. “I want that again.”

He swallowed hard to compose himself. All the time I’m thinking, this man who looks like he has it all together, has been so lonely since his wife died. He’s afraid to trust his heart to anyone after loving her so much. I understood completely.

“I didn’t think there was that kind of woman left. Until you kept all of us in stitches as you talked about flowers with Latin names and told jokes while you were unconscious and let everyone in that room know you appreciated what they were doing for you. And then you cried because you missed your husband.”  

I let the words sink in and the silence lingered lightly upon us while I thought of an appropriate response. The silence finally prompted me to say the first thing that jumped into my head.  

“So it’s not just because I’m beautiful and you want to get your hands under my shirt,” I finally said. The tension was broken. 

He threw his head back and laughed and then took both of my hands in his and looked straight in my eyes and said, “There is that.”

Sister and Julio had obviously told Warren everything because the conversation at that end of the table had quit just long enough for her to hear what I said to Gavin. Her eyebrows were so high if her hair hadn’t caught them they’d have done a tilt-a-whirl around her head. Warren turned his back so I wouldn’t see him laughing, but I did anyway because I was facing the mirror and nothing escaped me.

Reggie came in then apologizing profusely. “We are all out of the Crawfish Etouffe. You will never guess who has come to Antoine’s tonight!” He did not wait for a response. “The Dishing It Network is having a convention here and the CEO and his staff are in Antoine’s 1840 Room for supper tonight!”

I’ve already admitted to being tipsy. One drink is usually my limit, but I had already had two, three, but who’s counting? 

“Fantastic,” I said. “Now is the time to pitch our show.”

I took Reggie by the arm and said, “Lead the way, Reg. Sister and I are going to be stars.”

I heard Sister cry out for Gavin to stop me. But, I was already out the door. Before Sister could come around the table I had made it to the 1840 Room and had gotten directions to the head honcho.

“Meet your new stars for the Dishing It Network,” I said introducing myself. “I am Dabney Palmer Rankin and this is my sister, Dr. Sophia Palmer Ransom.” Sophie was apologizing right and left, interrupting my sales pitch. I grabbed her and put my hand over her mouth.

“Sister and I want to do a show on your network at our family’s old plantation home in Alabama-- Waverly. We’d call it Partying on the Plantation…much like the Shoeless Shaman. But, instead of dishes of cactus and scorpions, we’d be cookin’ up real Southern food and throwing parties with guest cooks and visitors we’d invite out to the plantation. We’ll just hope the ghosts don’t decide to join us,” I said, thoroughly enjoying myself.  

That was the part I remembered. Fortunately, I woke up in Sister’s bed in her three-story house on Lake Pontchartrain. My head pounded, but I forced my eyes open. I quickly covered my eyes from the light that struck like a shard of glass through my eyes to my brain. I took a deep breath to settle my stomach.            

“Why am I in your bed?” I asked Sister whom I heard breathing in the bed next to me.

“So you wouldn’t be in anybody else’s,” she responded. “Besides, I was worried that you’d get sick during the night and throw up and choke,” she said. I could tell she really had worried about that. I was actually worried about that at the moment. I took a very deep breath.

“I didn’t tell the joke about the man taking the chicken to the movie theater, did I?” I mumbled, keeping the pillow over my eyes because the bright sun streaming through Sister’s windows in her bedroom of the house on Lake Pontchartrain was piercing through my eyeballs. 

The way I remembered it the bunch of Yankee stuffed shirts had been only going through the motions of folks out on the town until we got there. At first they thought we were just pulling their legs. But then Sister recommended Antoine’s best wine and before long the creative juices were flowing. Everyone got to kicking ideas around and laughing and having a good time. We all got fonder and fonder of each other and I think I remember telling the joke about the guy that took the chicken to the movie theater with him. 

Sister reached over to her bed stand and shook a bottle. I held my head with the sound that echoed through my brain like maracas shaken right next to my ear. She handed me a couple of Extra Strength Advil and a sip of water. Then she got up and pulled the blinds before she crawled back in the bed. Only then did she answer me.

“Yep,” she said. “And then they told us to come see them today and sign a contract.”

“Sure,” I said and rolled over.

 

Sing it loud. Sing it proud!

 

I sometimes think I should have titled my blog "The Guilty Gaper" because that is exactly what I am. I am old enough now to claim it. I think Norman Rockwell painted this thinking of me.

 I love to sing. When I was a little girl, my mother thought I went up to my piano teacher's house (Mrs. Ina Harrison who played with Chautauqua. Her husband owned a pharmacy downtown.) to learn to play the piano. I learned one piece a year, but got her to play for me to sing the rest of the lesson. That was my joy. Then I would sing those songs to the trees in my front yard from the balcony of our home, pretending I was singing on the stage of an opera. 

On Sunday mornings before my mother took me to church at the old Presbyterian church downtown I would climb to the top of the slide and sing made up songs of praise to God. My father and mother encouraged my singing. Back then there were booklets you could purchase at the IGA with the words of the songs on the radio. When we would travel, Daddy, who hated the radio, would turn it on for me to sing along. Mother's favorite was "When You Walk Through A Storm".

When I listened to Miss Essie Mae Smitherman sing "The Star Spangled Banner" at the football games where I stood on the field as an unexpected cheerleader, I aspired to become a teacher at Dothan High School and maybe one day do the same. There was something thrilling there in the dark watching the flag raise over the stadium hearing her clear, beautiful voice and our wonderful Dothan High School band play. 

I have many happy memories of singing. I sang "The Little Drummer Boy" at First Baptist and watched my little son, Drew, walk down the aisle with his little drum. My heart swelled and the words were hard to come as I watched God's gift to me walk down that aisle.

I sang "The Old Rugged Cross" at my grandmother's funeral. My grandfather, Pat Gillis, had sat listening to the Gospel Hour on the radio the Saturday before his death. He heard the words of that song and said to my grandmother who sat rocking her six month old baby next to him, "When I die, I want them to sing that song." The next weekend, the ropes broke on the truck in front of him as he was on his way to TR Miller Mill Company in Brewton, Alabama and he was crushed. That song meant something to the precious woman who raised my mother and her four siblings alone all those years that followed. As she died in the hospital, she lifted a hand, looked beyond those gathered beside her, and said, "Pat?" 

I sang "The King is Coming" at Joe's cousin Dick Moseley's funeral. 

My dear friend, Agatha Bennett in Panama City, requested that I sing "The Lord's Prayer" at her funeral. She was Presbyterian but the funeral was held at the Baptist Church because it was bigger and she and Julian were much loved and respected. The pianist of the church and I practiced a bit before the service. I do not think the others who sang, or spoke, really knew her and their delivery was staid and mechanical, But I knew her and I knew her faith. The song and the music gelled and it created a praise moment that still sings in my heart. One I knew she would have loved. Hands raised in praise and a true moment of worship occurred. But not everyone received it well to my consternation. 

And then, after attending church with my father so he would not have to sit alone, the pastor's wife walked past me and said, "You sure sing loud." Yes, the Norman Rockwell picture reminds me of me singing in church. And yes, there have been times when small children turned to look. But, with her words, every doubt, every weakness, every inhibition I ever experienced returned. I must say her words took me back to Sunday school at that church when no one wanted to sit beside me. Until I was 12, my mother took me to the Presbyterian Church. Then Daddy decided we would all attend church in the denomination he had grown up in. I was a chubby little girl, the last to be picked for any sport. Truly a late bloomer. Two of the boys in that Sunday school class had been the boys who said to me one day in Junior High, "You are so fat, how do you get down that hall." Such wit. Both were chubby themselves. A mean bunch of children who considered themselves the elect. One died long ago. Someone said of AIDS.  And the other is going blind, I hear. And I guess the girls in that church thought fat was contagious. 

Lauren Daigle's song, You Say, expresses it best...

I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I'm not enoughEvery single lie that tells me I will never measure upAm I more than just the sum of every high and every lowRemind me once again just who I am because I need to knowOoh-ohYou say I am loved when I can't feel a thingYou say I am strong when I think I am weakAnd you say I am held when I am falling shortAnd when I don't belong, oh You say I am YoursAnd I believe (I)Oh, I believe (I)What You say of me (I)I believe

But, God gave me a mother who won a battle ribbon for her participation at the Battle of the Bulge. She told me to tell them "You don't buy my groceries, so don't worry about it!" Not a great comeback, but good enough for me. Much better than tears. She was the oldest of those children my grandmother raised after my grandfather died. She went to work keeping the books for a dime store and helped her mother as early as possible. Her gumption and big heart led her to sign up for the Army after borrowing money for nursing school and graduating. I found out later that some girls' mothers forbade them from being my friends. They called my mother coarse and vulgar. I called my mother loving, courageous and a wonderful example of stepping out of her comfort zone to do what she felt God called her to do. And yes, she could curse like a soldier and loved a good joke. She had an infectious laugh and people from all over town would call her to tell her the latest joke they heard. Yet, she washed my mouth out with soap if a curse word escaped. Mother once saved a horse destined for the glue factory and set him to work on our farm. When you rode that horse, he went hell for leather and you had to run him into a fence to stop him. Sometimes I think that is how I do things. I write and tell it true. I sing and I sing with every feeling I experience. That horse died when his heart burst while herding cattle. Not such a bad end. Dying while doing what you love. I loved my Joe and love my children and grandchildren with every fibre of my being. As someone once said, "You are only as happy as your unhappiest child."

I remember how hurtful children (and their parents) can be. And so now, when my precious gifted granddaughter tells me that her hands shook and she could barely speak in a spelling bee or that they had a singing contest and everyone ran away before she could begin singing, I get her to sing this Lauren Daigle song for me and tell her...What you have is a gift from God. Those who try to rob you of your gift are not speaking from God's heart. We know from where their crippling words of doubt and destruction come. 

Sing it loud and sing it proud. Sing it from your heart and articulate every word so that people will hear the words and not just the music. Music speaks to our very soul.

I think of the arrogance of that woman who meant to shut me up and I want to ask her if she has ever heard of the church of Laodicea. 

The History of America's Children Being Groomed: How We Got to Sodom and Gomorrah

 America's children are in real trouble. 

While some may have thought the domestic terrorist, Bill Ayers, had turned over a new leaf when he got his PHD in education at Columbia, the truth is Ayers still works on dismantling America from the inside, and, through Barach Obama he set up a framework to do so. 

For those who are not well-versed on 60s politics, Ayers was a leader of the Weathermen, the most radical of all 1960s revolutionaries.  Among other things, the Weathermen bombed the Pentagon and the U.S. Capitol and sprung Timothy Leary from jail. His wife, Bernadine Dohrn, was on the FBI's list of most wanted criminals.

As Ayers puts it, “There’s a lot in white Americans that we do have to fight, and beat out of them and beat out of ourselves,” Ayers said in a speech. “We have to be willing to fight white privilege, racism, male supremacy–in order to build a revolutionary movement.”

Ironically, Bill Ayers is allowed to speak on college campuses, unlike conservative speakers. His T-shirt reads: “America is like a melting pot: The people at the bottom get burned and the scum floats to the top.”

He is formerly Distinguished Professor of Education and Senior University Scholar at the University of Illinois at Chicago (UIC). He works in the university’s elementary teacher education program. His specialty is school improvement. He has written one book on early childhood education and another about teaching. He publishes regularly in scholarly journals. Each year he trains dozens of would-be teachers for private, public, and parochial schools. And he was the director of the Chicago Annenberg Project which Barach Obama chaired from 1991-1995. As Ayers sees it, teachers and students are victims of an oppressive schooling system that “manages and controls” instead of “opening possibilities.”

At the Chicago Annenberg Challenge, “the brainchild of Bill Ayers,” they funneled more that $100 million to radical groups which used the funds to promote radical education. This initiative was also promoted by Arne Duncan, who became Secretary of Education. Also as board members of the Woods Fund, Ayers and Obama channeled money to ACORN (Association of Community Organizations for Reform Now) and the Midwest Academy: Organizing for Social Change.

In 2003, Barach Obama supported Illinois Senate Bill 99, which despite his denials and false claims by the mainstream media was not a bill to protect children from sexual predators. On the contrary, it was a sweeping, comprehensive sex-education bill that lowered the age of instruction from sixth grade to kindergarten. It gutted an abstinence emphasis and prohibited "bias" based on "sexual orientation." The term "sexual predator" is nowhere in the bill. 

 

In 2007, a group from the American Educational Research Association (AERA), including Ayers, demanded major accrediting organization for schools, colleges, and departments of education include categories of "social justice, sexual orientation and gender identity" in its standards. Ayers and colleagues called their effort "Call to Action: A RED Campaign for Social Justice and Queer Lives." Formerly vice president for curriculum of the AERA, Ayers was the spokesman on behalf of the effort and called on the National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE) to include these categories.

Would all schools in the U.S., under the muscle of an Obama administration, be forced to drill youth in the talking points of "gay" sex and gender–switching, calling it "justice"? Would Ayers' idea that America is an oppressive regime with way too much heterosexuality become a core tenet of your child's value system?

Ayers wrote an endorsement on the book, Queering Elementary Schools: Advancing the Dialogue about Sexualities and Schooling for which Kevin Jennings, founder of GLSEN (Gay, Lesbian &Straight Education Network), wrote the foreword. Ayers recommended Jennings to be Assistant Deputy Secretary of Education for the Office of Safe and Drug Free Schools. According to the GLSEN website, the National Association of School Psychologists, the Learning First Alliance, the National Education Association, the Council for Exceptional Children, Social Workers Association of America and the American Federation of Teachers are their longtime partners in the education world. They say the purpose of GLSEN is to transform America's K-12 schools into an "affirming environment".

Please take note: The Alabama Psychological Association (aPA) was established in 1950 and is a state affiliate of the American Psychological Association.  So when the Alabama legislature passed the Numeracy Act and included putting psychologists in every school, you might wonder why.

 A transcript from a 1997 speech shows Kevin Jennings, Office of Safe Schools chief in the U.S. Department of Education,  expressing his admiration for Harry Hay, who was one of the nation's first homosexual activists who launched the Mattachine Society in 1948, founded the Radical Faeries and was a longtime advocate for the North American Man-Boy Love Association, NAMBLA. 

“One of the people that's always inspired me is Harry Hay,” the transcript shows Jennings saying, “who started the first ongoing gay rights groups in America. 

 “Hay was a prominent American gay rights activist, communist, pro-pedophilia activist (NAMBLA), and … founder of the Mattachine Society, the first sustained gay rights group in the United States as well as the Radical Faeries, a loosely-affiliated gay spiritual movement.” Among these, NAMBLA is the infamous North American Man/Boy Love Association. (Wikipedia)

Harry left Communist Party of the USA and in 1950 joined a group of homosexual communists in forming the so-called Mattachine Society, the pioneering organization of gay communists. From there, Hay did remarkable work in spreading both gay-rights propaganda and communist propaganda and forging the two under a mighty left-wing rainbow umbrella that would revolutionize what we now called the wider “LGBTQ” movement. (Actually, writers at People’s World, flagship publication of Communist Party USA, have now started using the term “LGBTQIA.”)

“Well, [in] 1993,” Jennings continued, “Harry Hay marched with a million people in Washington, who thought he had a good idea 40 years before.

Bob Hamer writes about a SEXUAL PREDATOR’S STRATEGY: GROOMING. He states:  "For the persuasion sexual predator, “grooming” is the vehicle used to manipulate and seduce the vulnerable child. I didn’t learn about grooming in a college classroom or from a textbook. I learned it from the pedophiles themselves." Read more below. 

Is this part of multicultural education? Are our children supposed to celebrate this? 

And now we come to one of the most radical of all agents of change: the Southern Poverty Law Center in Montgomery, Alabama, that has been promoting this agenda for years under the guise of "Conflict Resolution" and "Teaching Tolerance." 

Dr. Tommy Bice, former gay Superintendent for the state of Alabama, is a board member of the Magic City Acceptance Academy (grades 6 through 12), one of Alabama's first charter schools. They state on their website:

 "...educational pedagogy and curriculum design that best meets our needs as a community of learners will be rooted in Constructivism. The basic tenet of Constructivism is that learners, simply put, construct learning through a variety of experiences. Learners construct knowledge rather than simply sit and take in information. As people experience problems and situations they reflect on what they experience and they create or build their own representations and incorporate new information into their pre-existing knowledge (schemas).The essential components in constructivist theory are to elicit prior knowledge, create cognitive dissonance, and apply the knowledge with feedback and reflection on learning. These components are best utilized in project-based, cooperative, learning activities that reflect elements with meaning to, or are relevant to the students’ lives and community." 

There is nothing innocent about the phrase "create cognitive dissonance." Cognitive dissonance is a state of confusion brought about by conflicting beliefs. There are a number of different situations that can create cognitive dissonance, such as "Forced Compliance." 
"Sometimes you might find yourself engaging in behaviors that are opposed to your own beliefs due to external expectations, often for work, school, or a social situation. This might involve going along with something due to peer pressure..," according to the verywellmind website. So, are kindergarteners strong enough to withstand the peer pressure and proselytizing of an agenda "contrary to the fixed beliefs of their parents?"  And how is this Constitutional? 
"Constructivist" equals "cognitive dissonance"
Alabama scores dead last nationally on math scores.  We have two Auburn College of Education professors, Gary Martin and Marilyn Strutchens, who have been awarded nearly $600,000 to establish professional learning communities in mathematics. Strutchens served on the board of directors of the National Council of Teachers of Mathematics. 

 National Council of Teachers of Mathematics encourage the move away from the traditional emphasis on computational skills like multiplication tables and algorithms—a teaching method that university mathematicians still favor but that many K–12 math teachers dismiss as “drill and kill.” Teachers (particularly liberal and left-leaning teachers) instead use a “constructivist” or “discovery-based” pedagogy, sometimes called “fuzzy math.” Here students learn mathematical concepts by trying to solve real-life problems, like social justice lessons on how military budgets for the war in Iraq deny poor Americans their fair share of resources as an advance beyond problems about baseball statistics, shopping, or building.

Remember "Constructivist" equals cognitive dissonance.  And when you see "social justice" you might as well think about the Bill Ayers and all he supports and why he promotes "constructivist" education and the creation of cognitive dissonance. 

Martin and Strutchens have been on nearly every state math committee in Alabama; in fact, Dr. Strutchens chaired the committee in 2019. 

With math teachers more concerned with social justice lessons than actually teaching math we fear that Queer Mathematics will soon be in our schools if it isn't already. 

"For the last decade or so, largely working beneath public or parental notice, a well-organized movement has sought to revolutionize the curricula and culture of the nation’s public schools. Its aim: to stamp out “hegemonic heterosexuality”—the traditional view that heterosexuality is the norm—in favor of a new ethos that does not just tolerate homosexuality but instead actively endorses experimenting with it, as well as with a polymorphous range of bisexuality, transgenderism, and transsexuality. The educational establishment has enthusiastically signed on. What this portends for the future of the public schools and the psychic health of the nation’s children is deeply worrisome." writes Marjorie King. 

 

 

https://gellerreport.com/2022/08/queer-mathematics-in-public-schools.html/

 And now we discover a leftist organization called "The Queer Mathematics Teacher" is seeking to embed gender theory in K-12 math classes. Brandie Waid, the director of The Queer Mathematics Teacher, laid out a plan for incorporating gender theory into math classes in a blog post on the Collaborative for Academic Social and Emotion Learning (CASEL) website. CASEL is sponsored by the Allstate Foundation. 

Once again we find Bill Ayers. 

Linda Darling-Hammond is a radical left-wing educator and close colleague of William “Bill” Ayers. Hammond was Professor Bill Ayers’ choice for secretary of education during the first Obama administration. Hammond served as an education adviser and transition team leader in 2008. Hammond serves on the board of the Collaborative for Academic, Social, and Emotional Learning (CASEL), the godfather of SEL in the U.S., and co-chaired the Aspen Institute’s National Commission on Social, Emotional and Academic Learning. 

"Schools should be focused on teaching children core curriculum and not on asking intrusive questions that have nothing to do with core subjects," Parents Defending Education President Nicole Neilly told Fox News Digital. "Injecting Social Emotional Learning into math class not only distracts from teaching students the basics, but it also undermines the program's purpose - because higher self-esteem is a direct result of subject mastery."

Contrary to what parents want in their children's math education, the Queer Mathematics Teacher site states, "The ability to consider sexuality irrelevant in the mathematics context is a heteronormatively privileged position." They note that some areas of their expertise include "queer pedagogy," "teaching mathematics for social justice," "Fostering Students' Growth Mindset (While Advocating for Systemic Change," and "Humanizing Mathematics Education for LGBTQ+ Students."

Brandie Waid, the left-wing activist promoting the Queer Mathematics Teacher, even goes so far as to suggest that activist educators should teach critical race theory and gender theory, even if it means breaking the law. Waid writes, “I implore my colleagues to ask: How can we work within (or outside) the confines of these laws to center Transformative SEL and student thriving in our teaching?” 

 So, not only do we find Bill Ayers' agenda, we find that the National Education Association, and therefore its affiliate, the Alabama Education Association, supports-- I would say-- even promotes this sexualization of children.  

NATIONAL EDUCATION ASSOCIATION C-12 

Student Sexual Orientation, Gender Identity and Gender Expression

    "The National Education Association believes that all persons, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity, should be afforded equal opportunity and guaranteed a safe and inclusive environment within the public education system. The Association also believes a safe and inclusive environment ensures that all transgender students have access to the bathroom or locker of their choice and protects them from breaches of confidentiality. The Association believes that LGBTQ students have the right to privacy and confidentiality regarding their sexual orientation, gender identity, and gender expression. Further, educators must respect these students and their choice of whether or not to reveal their orientation, identity, or expression. 

    The Association further believes that, for students who are struggling with their sexual orientation, gender identity or gender expression, every school district and educational institution should provide counseling services and programs--staffed by trained personnel--that deal with high suicide and dropout rates and the high incidence of teen prostitution. The Association further believes that therapies designed to alter a student's orientation or identity are harmful to the emotional development of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, non-binary, and questioning (LGBTQ+) students. Therefore, students should have access to gender affirming health care. 

The Association believes that all transgender students should be able to use the bathroom or locker room of their choice."

What do they mean when they say students should have access to gender affirming health care? Do parents get to be involved in this "gender affirming" health care? Do these people support the mutilation of small children whom they have confused (gender dysphoria) with their "lessons" (cognitive dissonance)? Are they coming at innocent children during a time of their natural development when they prefer playing with children of their own sex and confuse them into thinking this is a "trans" issue? They admit, no they boast, that they  intentionally use constructivist methodology to create cognitive dissonance in children. 

Jane Robbins, attorney, researcher, and author in Atlanta, GA., writes in "The Cracks in the Edifice of Transgender Totalitarianism, "The epidemic of supposed gender dysphoria among children and adolescents—“transgenderism”—has often been described as a cult. The designation is in some ways apt. Though lacking a charismatic leader usually found in such movements, other expert descriptions of cults certainly apply: “designed to destabilize an individual’s sense of self by undermining his or her basic consciousness, reality awareness, beliefs and worldview, [and] emotional control.” Cults also lead the target to believe that “anxiety, uncertainty, and self-doubt can be reduced by adopting the concepts put forth by the group.” The promise is a “new identity” that will solve all problems, even as it separates one from family and previous life."

And so you can see the effects of creating cognitive dissonance through Constructivist methodology.

A program established under the Alabama Accountability Act of 2013 establishes a tax-credit scholarship that students assigned to "failing" schools can use to attend any "non-failing" public or private school in the state. A "failing" school in this case has a broad definition: It includes any school getting a D or F grade on the state's accountability system; any school in the lowest 10 percent of scores on the state's standardized assessment in reading and math; any school labeled as "consistently low-performing: by the state education department in a state application for a federal School Improvement Grant; or any school otherwise deemed as "failing" by the state superintendent. 

The tax credit is equal to 80 percent of the state's per-pupil cost of attending a public school, or the actual cost of attending a non-failing public school. For parents applying for tax credits, the legislation creates a new Failing Schools Income Tax Credit Account to distribute the funds. The law also allows for scholarship-granting organizations to receive donations from both private individuals and corporations, and in turn provide the funds for parents to use in the school choice program. The donation cap for individuals is $7500 annually, and corporations may receive a tax credit of 50 percent of their total donations. The law also institutes a statewide cap on tax credits of $24 million annually. 

When one considers the failure of our schools to teach our children reading and math, and the massive intrusion into parents right with psychological manipulation of small children contrary to the attitudes and beliefs of their parents, perhaps parents could consider this when claiming "tax credits" or "vouchers" to take their children from the schools violating their trust to the school of their choice. 

Accreditation remains a problem as the entities promoting this agenda control credentialing of teachers. The only way to really eliminate the progression of this agenda is to bypass credentialing by giving the money to the parent who can choose schools who hire teachers with degrees outside of education and to attend schools that adhere to curriculum that is knowledge based. Like Saxon Math and reading programs using Systematic Intensive Direct and Early Phonics education. 

Parents need to be aware that the "award winning" books available to their child sometimes contain graphic information on sex that may not fit their idea of appropriate. Those who determine those awards have themselves accepted an agenda that may not fit that of the child's parents. These books are available through the Media Center at Dothan Preparatory school, grades 6 through 9. There is no parental group to oversee physical books chosen for the library like there once was. 

This is your child's media center. 

As Ayers puts it, “There’s a lot in white Americans that we do have to fight, and beat out of them and beat out of ourselves,” Ayers said in a speech. “We have to be willing to fight white privilege, racism, male supremacy–in order to build a revolutionary movement.”

Maybe it's time to protect our children and fight back!

TIPS ON HIP AND KNEE REPLACEMENT SURVIVAL

TIPS ON HIP AND KNEE REPLACEMENT SURVIVAL

 Nearly five weeks out from the total right knee replacement, I am finally able to sit at my desk without too much pain. I have now had two hip replacements and a right knee replacement and I can say with great assurance that the knee replacement is pretty much the greatest pain I have ever experienced, including having babies which was formerly my top register for pain.  As my granddaughter told me, I am pretty much a bionic woman now. So, let me share some things that just might help should you ever venture forth with these surgeries. 

1.     DIAL SOAP Bathing and washing hands with Dial soap helps kill the bacteria that might cause problems later with the surgery and its healing. 

2.     BUY CLOROX LAUNDRY SANITIZER and LYSOL to go in with your laundry detergent when you wash your sheets and clothes you will wear beginning with the Hibilens regime five days before surgery. 

3.     PRESS AND SEAL OR SARAN WRAP. Make sure you have someone close to you with you for the first two weeks because when you bathe, someone will have to wrap the incision to keep the incision dry and stay close by to make sure you do not pass out because you have lost a lot of blood. 

4.     BIDET  I ordered the $39 version on Amazon recommended by my friend. I wish I had known earlier that you could make your toilet into a bidet. I had the plumber come and install it. This would have been so helpful when I had the hip replacement because it hurt so badly to turn and reach behind me. Do not think this is a female thing. One setting is for one’s aft and one is for one’s fore. 

5.     FRAME FOR A BEDSIDE TOILET. You can take the bowl out of the bedside toilet and place the frame over the authentic toilet to give you a higher elevation when you go to the toilet and the pain of bending your knee is diminished. Also the rails on the sides help with getting up and down.  Just don’t use the bidet then as the water will squirt all over if you do. 

6.     ELEVATED TOILET An elevated toilet with rails beside it and rails in the shower are near necessities for those of us with hip and knee issues. 

7.      BED RAIL A friend recommended getting one that projects pretty far under the mattress so you have something to pull on to help you turn over and get in and out of bed. 

8.     HIP AND KNEE REPLACEMENT KIT. When I had my hip replacement at the Hughston Clinic in Columbus/Phoenix City, I was given what I call THE SURVIVAL PACK-- 6 Piece Hip And Knee Replacement Kit - Surgery Recovery Set - Handicap Aid, Leg Loop Lifter, Reacher Grabber, Long Handle Shoe Horn, Shower Loofah Scrubber, Sock Assist, Dressing Stick (6 Pieces). Apparently this isn’t standard equipment. I did not get that in Panama City at Bay Medical when I had my left hip replacement nor was it suggested when I got my knee replacement. I saw it in the gift shop in Mobile but it was not mentioned to my brother when he had his hip replacement. Fortunately, I was able to bring my equipment to share with him until I needed it again.  (You can order this from Amazon as well.) 

9.     PAIN MEDICATION Take it. Have someone with you to help you remember what and when you are to take it. Just don't take it longer than you need it. 

10.   STOOL SOFTENERS There is no sick like the constipation you will have after taking the opioids necessary after these extremely painful surgeries. Keep an extra garbage can beside your toilet because it may be necessary should you also get nauseated.

11.  INFINITE POSITION LIFT RECLINER CHAIR WITH MASSAGE AND HEATING I finally bit the bullet and ordered mine from ASJMREYE online and it arrived right before my surgery. It has been wonderful. 

12. ALEXA My daughter set up multiple ALEXAs throughout the house so that if I needed her all I had to do was say "Alexa Announce" and then give the command and the word reached my daughter upstairs. 

 

Throughout this experience I have been reminded that “no man is an island.” One week after my knee replacement, the pain was so bad I thought I should have just let them shoot me instead. I went to my text messages where a group of my friends had become my encouragers. It is amazing what a friend can do in lifting pain. I decided I would live and hopefully be a better person. Friends called. Friends prayed for me. Friends brought food and sent flowers. They set for me a wonderful example. I am blessed. 

 

Hopefully some of these suggestions will be helpful. God bless you my friend. 

 

 

Genomic Research for High School Students: Breeding Grou...

 Genomic Research for High School Students: Breeding Ground for Dr. Moreau?

Sharman Burson Ramsey, BSE, MSE

Cecily Cathryn Ramsey, BSEE/Computer Engineering

The program Monday night at the Houston County Republican Party was delivered by Doug Mitchell, the former executive director of the Dothan Area Chamber of Commerce where he was responsible for the overall operations of the chamber and supported projects related to economic, community and workforce development. The company involved in the “Genomics” research is called “Hudson Alpha.”  They are a 15 year old, non-profit business based in Huntsville, Alabama. 

The building in Dothan will be called the “Wiregrass Innovation Center.”  The new building will be downtown near the Art Museum and will be built by the City of Dothan. 

They will focus their initial efforts on peanut research. Their overall goal is to “recruit Agriculture Tech Companies to the Dothan area.”

The Power Point Presentation with high school students in lab coats using pipettes to engineer genetic alterations to DNA led the audience to appreciate the experience of hands on learning. But, what were we really watching? Are there concerns that should be considered before free-falling into a brave new world. 

1. Should our children now have access to DNA altering equipment? 

Children are precocious and innovative. They have not even begun to think through their own ethics. Who can assure that their limitation would be with a peanut and not human DNA? What can we expect of these children whose first inclination would be to prick a finger, look at the DNA in the equipment provided by Hudson Alpha and apply it wherever the whim might take them. 

There are not enough teachers to oversee these experiments. They are encouraged to use their imaginations and to "face their fears." While we understand the desire to get kids involved in Science, Technology, Engineering and Math (STEM), giving them DNA equipment before they are given the basics is not wise. Just as a child would not be given a Lamborghini, a car that goes 200 miles an hour, you start them off in basic transportation and teach them limits. 

Doug Mitchell does well in public relations. But, I imagine he also supported Common Core and promoted it in our schools. And where has that gotten us? 

2. Do peanut farmers want GMO (Genetically Modified Organisms) peanuts? Organisms have DNA. DNA is not just in peanuts, it is in all organisms. That goes from bacteria, to seeds, to people. 

3. Do Dothan residents want more GMOs in the food supply? Why are more people purchasing Organic foods? 

4. God made things the way they are because of how we are created. Look at the increased number of children with special dietary needs. Part of the diet for these children is non GMO. Organic produce inherently means Non GMO. That means NOT Genetically Modified. And yet the pollen from the altered crops will encroach upon neighboring farms that strive to be organic and by no fault of their own, the genetically modified seeds come over their property lines. Hence the lawsuits. 

And yet, the public relations folks have yet again sold us a bill of goods. And Dothan residents through their taxes will be funding this aberration. 

Are you prepared to make Dothan the new Island of Dr. Moreau?